


Silence

by maximumsuckage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Coda, Episode: s13e13 Devil's Bargain, Gabriel (Supernatural) is Loki, Gabriel Being Gabriel, Gen or Pre-Slash, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 04:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumsuckage/pseuds/maximumsuckage
Summary: Gabriel is rescued by Sam, and must deal with the immediate aftermath of years of imprisonment and torture.





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have yet another piece based on that last plot twist. V long, I considered splitting it into chapters but it seemed like more work to decide good places to cut it.

“Just grab him quick, Sam, there’s too many of them!”  Dean’s voice was tossed from wall to wall, muddied by the clashing shrieks of metal and the meaty thunk of knives in flesh.  There were five demons against Dean and Castiel, which was manageable but worrisome, especially since the word had already gone out that they were here. 

After all, there was heavy guarding for a prisoner of such caliber.

They’d already stolen the key- that was when the alarm had been raised.  And now, Sam fit it in the old lock and threw open the door.

The sounds of the skirmish vanished as soon as he stepped into the room.  All he was aware of was the being before him, kneeling, hands bound, head lowered.  The sharp metallic smell of blood hung thick in Sam’s nose, but even that meant nothing as he stepped forward.  “Gabriel?”

The archangel stirred, but didn’t speak.  He simply looked up at Sam, slowly, like even the effort of raising his head was too much.  The light from the hallway caught his eyes, throwing the irises bright gold, the only bright thing down in the bowels of Hell.  Blood and dirt splattering his face was dark against the unhealthy pallor of his skin, but that was nothing to the wreckage of his mouth. 

The messy stitches made Sam want to throw up.  “Gabriel,” he whispered, but then there was another shout from Dean.  Sam glanced out the door, grimacing.  Several demons had been killed, but more were coming, and there wasn’t time for the near surgical endeavor of freeing Gabriel’s lips. 

The archangel seemed to know it too, and he tugged half-heartedly at his hands, like he didn’t really expect Sam to free him, but was hoping for it anyways.  Sam obeyed quickly, breaking the bonds of his hands and feet, grimacing at the raw flesh that had been left by ropes and cuffs.  “Can you stand?” he asked, as the sounds of the fight moved closer.  Blood splattered across the hall floor, just beyond the doorway.

Shakily, leaning heavily on Sam’s arm, Gabriel stood, only for one of his knees to give out.  He huffed out a breath through his nose at the pain, curling an arm around his middle.  There was no time now for first aid though- At another shout, this one from Castiel, Sam simply scooped Gabriel up bridle style, ignoring the hiss at the sudden movement. 

Gabriel didn’t fight it though, turning to rest his head against Sam’s chest, closing his eyes.  He didn’t care about the fighting all around him.  He didn’t even care that this was probably an illusion.  A pocket universe perhaps, Asmodeus practicing another one of his stolen powers.  As soon as they crossed the threshold to Earth, the warmth of Sam would vanish and he’d be back in the cell, slowly bleeding out while his last vestiges of grace prevented him from dying…

***

When he awoke again, it was to sticky leather under his cheek and the low vibration of a motor.  Gabriel didn’t open his eyes, or try to call out.  He simply lay there, and took stock of his injuries once again.  It was all he had left, he thought wryly.  He couldn’t count time, because he’d spent so much time unconscious that it didn’t exist anymore, and he couldn’t count the times the demons visited him, because that was completely random and usually hurt, but he could count injuries, take stock of his meat suit.

It granted a strange level of calm that he didn’t particularly enjoy.

Broken leg- the knee was shattered and the Achilles tendon had been severed, to keep him from ever making a break for it.  The other leg was untouched though, to make transport easier when it was necessary, but he was essentially a cripple. 

Broken ribs- Gabriel would say offhand that there were three broken, but his whole chest was just a dull ache, accompanied by a stabbing pain somewhere to the left.  Amazingly, the lung hadn’t been deflated yet, but Gabriel doubted that was far off. 

Ruptured spleen- ironically, he only knew what this was from his days in Asgard.  Mjolnir had ruptured Gabriel’s spleen enough during sparring (and the occasional legitimate fight) that he knew that pain, though at the time he hadn’t known that it was called a spleen.  He’d learned that from Dr. Sexy, MD (and if the torture didn’t start soon, he’d move onto naming all the characters and their relationships when he finished assessing his injuries).

Some other pain in his organs- no doubt something had been perforated by something, though Gabriel didn’t have enough medical prowess to determine exactly what had broken.  Maybe a kidney?  Liver?

His mouth- and that was the worst one.  It didn’t even hurt _that_ badly.  It was only ordinary piercings after all.  But it was the twine that added insult to injury- that bitch Asmodeus had gone to the dwarves for it, asking for something that could silence even the god Loki, and they had delivered, the little sluts.  Were it normal thread, he simply would have broken the piercings, damage be damned, but with enchantments and curses woven into the bind…

His cheek was still resting on the leather, and he’d managed to get through the list of major injuries without more torture.  He considered moving onto the minor ones, the cuts and bruises, but that was too depressing.  He wondered what the motor was for.  Perhaps another torture in store, though it sounded vaguely familiar. 

He considered opening his eyes, but he didn’t want to give some demon the satisfaction.  Let them still think he was unconscious, as he lay against the soft leather.  Maybe it would spare him a session of Asmodeus’s ridiculous accent.   Bastard was better off doing fried chicken commercials than torturing him. 

Were his lips not bound, he would have laughed at that.  He certainly had, already, and suggested that Asmodeus dip him in boiling oil a few times to live up to his accent and costume.

The jokes had kept him sane.  When his mouth had been bound, that was when he moved onto counting injuries.  That was when he’d started to feel his spirit break.

Soon enough, he was unconscious again.

***

The pain woke him again.  He curled away from it, would have screamed if he hadn’t been silenced.  His calf and ankle were burning, and he tried to jerk it away from the flames, but that caused the bones of his knee to grind together, and then he was burying his face in the pillow, trying to get away-

Wait-

Pillow.

He drew in a shuddering breath, reaching out to touch the clean, cool fabric, and then he was aware of voices.  No- a single voice, murmuring to him. 

“It’s okay, Gabe, I’ve got you... I know it hurts, but this needs to be cleaned…”  A hand rested on his shoulder- not roughly, but gentle, firm. 

He drew in a shuddering breath and turned to look at Sam.  Sam Winchester.  Sam Winchester, the Boy with Demon’s Blood… Sam Winchester, the sexiest of the hunters, who was currently holding a bottle of plain vodka to pour over the mess of his lower calf. 

He would have laughed at that, if his mouth was free.  Asmodeus was really scraping the bottom of the barrel with this torture.  Sure, Gabriel had liked the guy, but there were plenty of people who would have been more effective torture.  Odin, for one (that bastard traitor), or Thor (his best friend, still, despite everything), or Kali (some lover she’d turned out to be), or any number of people.  Sam was just… pleasant.  So it would suck when he was taken away, but it wouldn’t break his soul or anything. 

Laughter was impossible, so he settled for an eye roll. 

Illusion-Sam seemed to take that as permission to continue cleaning his leg, but now that Gabriel knew it was just alcohol, it still hurt, certainly, but he could classify it, in his head, as good pain, clean pain, wholesome pain.  Sam was talking now, but Gabriel didn’t pay attention to the meaningless murmurs.  He just turned away, so he wouldn’t have to look at the illusion that would soon be stolen from him, and closed his eyes, letting his mind disassociate from the pain in his leg…

***

“Rowena says it’s cursed.  We can’t just cut it, or the slap back from the spell might injure him more.”

“Well what the hell are we supposed to do here?  Just leave his mouth sewn up like that?  That’s-”

“Sam, I know it’s fucked up, but what else can we do?  You said yourself, the lore says that’s a way to nab him, so he probably knows how to get out of it.  We’ll ask him when he wakes up again.”

“If he knows how to get out then why wouldn’t he just do it himself?”

“Maybe he needs someone else to?  Look, his color is better and everything else is stitched up.  He’ll wake up soon.”

“Dean, I dunno…”

“It’ll be okay, Sam.”

***

This time, when he woke up, the pain had lessened.  Gabriel lay there a moment, eyes still closed, and took a deep breath.  He could smell pancakes, which probably was the worst torture Asmodeus had dreamed up (though he was starting to wonder if really _had_ been rescued, though he didn’t dare to hope, lest it be dashed). 

Seriously, pancakes?  Dripping with maple syrup, and all he could taste was blood and tingling magic on his swollen lips.  It was enough to make him want to sob.

Instead, he opened his eyes, careful not to move, and found that he was facing a bedside table, and beyond that, a wall.  On the table, there was a pen and a pad of paper. 

Cautiously, careful not to jostle his leg, he pushed himself up on his elbows to survey the rest of the room.  His ribs ached, but only if he moved beyond a certain angle, so he chose the bare minimum to see everything. 

Dean was sitting at the table across the room, scrolling through something on a laptop, occasionally biting into the pancakes from a McDonald’s package (and it was testament to how destroyed he’d been that even McDonald’s made him ache for food).  Sam was sleeping on the bed next to him, though the kid’s face was pale.  His sleep was probably something more akin to passing out.

Dean was so entrenched in whatever he was reading that he didn’t hear Gabriel reach for the paper and pen, didn’t hear the low scratching of writing.  He didn’t even look up until Gabriel slapped a hand loudly against the bedside table and held up the roughly written message. 

_Fuck you too Deano_

Dean’s mouth opened and closed once, and then he stood up.  “Okay, we saved your life, so don’t go insulting-”

Gabriel pointed at the pancakes and raised an eyebrow, then let himself fall back against the pillows, turning over under the blankets so that there would be the least pressure on his chest.  He was asleep again before Dean even had time to respond.

***

“…woke up?  Are you sure?”

“Guy got pissed at me for not buying him food too, then passed out again.”

“And you didn’t wake me up?!”

“He was barely conscious, dude, you didn’t miss much.”

“Next time, tell me!”

“Fine!  Look, Cas called…”

***

The light was burning, even through his closed eyes.  For a moment he lay there, reveling in the clean hurt of sunlight.  More torture, perhaps, but it was backfiring on Asmodeus.  Even the illusion of sunlight fired up some little flurry of hope in his broken chest.  If he ignored the pains, separated himself from them, he could go back in time, before Lucifer ruined everything. 

Maybe he wasn’t in prison.  Maybe he was just waking up on an ordinary morning, and if he turned over, Kali’s body would be there, and he could wrap an arm around her and kiss her neck until she awoke with a girlish giggle that she would never deign to make when fully conscious…

And why stop there, when he could run his hands down the smooth muscle of her body, tracing the lines of obliques and thighs, nibbling at collar bones and lips and fingers while she squirmed under his hands and mouth…

And maybe, just to add an element of spice to the sickly sweet scene, Shiva could walk in on them, and he would be pissed that his wife had once again chosen Loki over him, and there would be a fight, and Loki would laugh and make his escape, kissing Kali’s hand once before he left and promising to finish what he’d started later…

But no, that was a scene from another time.  That was Loki’s life, and he was Gabriel again, and the thought made him want to scream.  Gabriel’s life sucked.  Nothing good happened when he went by the name Gabriel.  It was cursed, he thought.  Loki had had horrible times, sure, but there were good times too.  Gabriel never had good times. 

But now he was Gabriel, and it was Gabriel’s lot in life to suffer, so he forced his eyes open against the sun. 

It was the motel room again, which meant he was still living the illusion, only this time he’d rolled so he was facing the rest of the room, and the shades on the window were up, letting in the morning sunlight. 

He was alone.  The Winchesters had abandoned him, or had gone out, or hadn’t even been there in the first place.  But he felt stronger now, so he pushed himself to sit up, one hand wrapped around his chest.  Amazingly, his lung was still holding up, which was definitely a bonus.  And he was hungry, though he still couldn’t open his mouth, so that was something that he’d worry about later. 

He was still alone, but the laptop was on the table across the room.  The laptop, which would have information on the date and his location.  Except, that would involve dragging his stupid messed up leg across the room, which would probably hurt.  Gabriel found himself at an impasse. 

But it was solved by the door opening, and Sam’s walking in.

“You’re awake!”  Sam dropped the bag he was carrying and rushed over to the side of the bed.  “How’re you feeling?”

Gabriel hesitated, but before he could grab it himself, Sam passed the pen and paper to him.  It took Gabriel longer than he would have liked to write out what he wanted to say out loud, but with the sparking magic at his lips, that couldn’t be helped.  At least his handwriting was nice, though Sam kept impatiently trying to read it before he was finished.

_Worse than the time I was tied to train tracks and got run over multiple times.  Better than the time I was tied up under the snake for a couple hundred years.  :P_

Sam blinked, reading it, and then grimaced.  “I’m sorry man.  If we’d known-”

Gabriel grabbed his hand to shut him up before he started in with the stupid, useless pity and apologies, and quickly scribbled, _not your fault._   Then, on a whim, he added, _Sign language?_   God knew that would be easier than this constant writing things out.

Sam winced at that.  “I know a tiny bit, but…”  But he’d stopped learning when Eileen had died.  He’d wanted to continue, in her honor, but each time he pulled up the language app, it had been too stark a reminder. 

Gabriel waved a hand dismissively, then scribbled, _no big deal_ , on the paper. 

Sam grimaced, but quickly rallied, bless his pretty little soul.  “We’ve cleaned all your wounds and stitched you up.  Sorry about that shower, but you needed it-”

Gabriel held up a hand, and quirked an eyebrow questioningly. 

“Um… the second night.  After you were stable.  You started screaming…”

Gabriel winced at the image, then shrugged.  He tore off the first piece of paper and started on the second.  _lol I blacked out real hard_

Sam opened his mouth to talk again, but Gabriel held up a hand and continued writing.  _Didja enjoy the free show?_

He had to fight to keep from grinning at the bitch face Sam gave him.  It pulled too hard on the stitching to laugh.  “I was a little more concerned with you sobbing and screaming than getting your clothes off,” Sam said bluntly.  “It’s a good thing you don’t remember.”

Gabriel shrugged, accepting the blessing, and then picked up the pen again.  _Date?_

Sam flushed bright red.  Gabriel rolled his eyes, grunting somewhere deep in his chest at the ridiculousness of humans, and added, _Year?_

Sam coughed, and Gabriel allowed him a moment to cover up his embarrassment.  Not that he wouldn’t have said no to hooking up with Sam Winchester, but now he wasn’t much feeling like hooking up with anybody.  Which was impressive, considering that he could count the number of times he’d been single in his life on his fingers.  “Twenty-eighteen,” Sam answered after a moment.  “February.” 

Gabriel did the math in his head, and winced.  All that time imprisoned, and his only taste of freedom had been with Metatron took him for a forced walk.  And this time, now, he realized, shifting his vision from Sam to the sunlight streaming through the window.  He’d missed so much…

“Hey, it’s okay.”  Sam reached out to touch his shoulder, and he flinched away.  Better to not let the illusion touch him.  The sun, voices, he could deal with, but he hadn’t felt real, human comfort in a while, and he didn’t want that to be taken away.  Better to just let ride out the vision, not let it get to him. 

Sam drew his hand back.  “It’s okay, Gabe.  You’re free.”

He just snorted at that, and scribbled out a short message on the paper, crumpled it up, and threw it at Sam’s face.  Before Sam had a chance to open it, he rolled over and closed his eyes again. 

 _Finger lickin’ good_ , the note read. 

***

The next time he woke up, it was night.  Sam and Dean were both there, asleep on the next bed over, back to back.  Gabriel sat up, pleased to note that the stabbing of rib into lung had almost vanished.  Of course, it would be back as soon as the vision was ended, but he could enjoy the reprieve for now. 

The two brothers lay back to back.  Dean had stolen the blankets, leaving Sam with only a corner, though Sam had unconsciously avenged himself by taking up most of the bed. 

Once, he and the other archangels had been that close.

Gabriel squashed the thought.  Raphael was dead, Lucifer tried to commit fratricide, and Michael didn’t care.  No point thinking about them, even if the thought brought tears to his eyes. 

Instead of laying down and trying to go back to sleep, Gabriel pushed the blankets aside to inspect his leg.  It had been bandaged by an expert hand, and the bandages were clean.  Someone had been keeping up with it during the times that he’d been out.  Heedless of the hard work put into healing him, Gabriel started unwrapping it, wincing each time the soft fibers pulled on the mess of his tendon or jostled the shattered pieces of his patella. 

Sure enough, there was some surface healing, though as Gabriel probed the wound on the back of his calf, he knew there was no reconnecting the tendons without use of his grace.  He was a cripple now, unable to stand on that foot.  Dammit.  So much for a walk outside, at least, not without a crutch. 

Which meant that he was stuck.  He couldn’t speak or walk, and he was trapped in this stupid vision, unable to do anything but listen to fake-Sam and fake-Dean breathe in the next bed over. 

Crying would only bring satisfaction to Asmodeus, who was no doubt watching the show, so Gabriel steeled himself and rolled over, throwing an arm over his face so the demon wouldn’t catch a glimpse of the tears pricking his eyes.

***

“It is old magic, Sam.  Perhaps I can whip something up, but I can’t make any promises.”

The last time Gabriel had heard that specific Irish voice had been at a witch orgy.  Good times, once again, belonging to Loki and not Gabriel. 

He liked being Loki better. 

He opened his eyes and shoved fake-Rowena’s hand away from his mouth.  She made a little noise of surprise, and then smiled.  “Ah, so our pretty pagan god is awake.”

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he winked at her.  “Attractive as ever,” he signed, and his hands were as graceful as his voice and penmanship.  “But I liked you better with your clothes off.”

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, and Rowena simply narrowed her eyes.  “I liked you better when you took me against that wall back in… the twenties, was it?  You had a much prettier vessel than this one.”

He winked and tried to push himself up a bit further, to have better use of his hands.  “And your voice is much prettier when you’re screaming my name.”

Rowena turned away, but licked her lips in a way that suggested there was to be more name screaming in the future.  “Perhaps I would have helped,” she said in her dashing Irish brogue, “But instead I’m going to offer to bind his hands as well.  Polite gods don’t kiss and tell.”

Rowena was deliberately avoiding looking at him, and neither Sam nor Dean knew sign language.  He longed to speak aloud, but he had to settle for signing, “you liked my hands too much last time we met,” to deaf eyes.

“Rowena, I dunno what he said, but-” Sam started, but Rowena held up a hand. 

“Nothing that he said.  Unfortunately, the spell work on his lips is old, and not of my specialty.  Perhaps, if I had the book, I could whip something up?”  She smiled up at Sam.

Gabriel smacked a hand against the bedside table to get everybody’s attention. He was the Messenger- words were his specialty, even when not spoken by mouth.  Of course, that just meant that he knew how to make his fingers as obnoxious as his tongue, so that even Sam and Dean could read his tone, though they might have missed the semantics.  “You need a book to cast a simple spell?  Did you need a book to sleep with me too?”

Rowena sniffed.  “And yet, you, a god of magic and chaos, needs me, a simple witch to break his curse.  It seems you know more about lady parts than spell-casting.  Not that I’m complaining.”

Maybe Sam and Dean were only catching half the conversation, but they could get the drift.  Dean started to herd Rowena towards the door.  “Knew this was a bad idea,” he muttered under his breath, making sure it was loud enough for the entire room to hear.

“Do let me know when your little trickster is up and functioning again,” Rowena called from the door, smiling sweetly.  “There’s so many things that I’ve wanted to try with an angel.  The wings, for one-”

Dean shut the door in her face.

Gabriel pouted, leaning back on the pillow, and picked up the pen and paper.

 _You’re doing a crap job torturing me,_ he wrote, and then tapped the pen top against his useless lips a moment while he considered the next part, although that just distracted him more, because he really wanted to chew on the pen.  _I mean, there are so many ~~artsyer~~ ~~artsier~~ artsy-er ways of torture.  Blueballing me with a past one night stand?  That’s kinda lame.  But what else can you expect from a prince of hell more used to frying chicken than torturing cosmic beings?_

The brothers crowded together to read the note, and Gabriel heard Sam’s breath hitch.  “Gabe,” he whispered.

Dean beat him to it though.  “You think this is some new torture?” he asked, and there was a harsh tone to his voice.  “Dude, we rescued you.  You’re safe now.  So start cooperating so we can get you back to normal.  There’s other stuff going on, and- and also, Rowena is not hot, okay?  Do not sleep with her.  It won’t end well-”

“That’s not going to help, Dean,” Sam murmured, pulling Dean aside. 

There was a quiet stare down.  Gabriel was impressed that Asmodeus had managed to replicate that part of the boys, the way they could wordlessly communicate like that.  The nuances to their expressions were a lovely bit of art.  Were the demon not using stolen powers, Gabriel would have clapped him on the back and complemented his world building skills. 

As it was, he did not appreciate it, so he just rolled away from them, dragging up the blankets so he couldn’t see them.  He wanted to run away, but his screwed up leg kept him down, and he wanted to scream, but the stitches anchored his lips in place.  He was trapped in his own body as much as this illusion. 

Asmodeus was probably having a grand old time, getting off to Gabriel’s helplessness. 

A shadow fell across him, and then Sam was kneeling next to the bed.  Gabriel refused to look at him. 

“You’re safe, Gabe,” Sam murmured.  “It’s okay.  I know… I know how you’re feeling.  And I want you to know that you’re safe here.” 

He reached out to set a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, but Gabriel moved quicker than that.  Snakelike, he jerked up, grabbed the wrist, twisted, and then Sam was down, face pressed against the mattress while Gabriel wrenched the hunter’s arm behind his back.  Pain sparked over the vessel- and he was relatively certain by the way his breath suddenly snagged on itself that he’d knocked out that lung, but it was so worth it to see the look of surprise on fake-Sam’s face. 

Still holding him down, Gabriel reached out for the pen with his other hand.  Sam was still, not fighting back (though he could have).  Instead, he just moved his head to watch as Gabriel wrote one word on his wrist.

_STOP_

Then he let go of Sam, slumping back down, breathing quick and shallow.  He didn’t even technically need oxygen to survive.  It didn’t matter if he only had one working lung now.  It didn’t matter if suddenly he couldn’t draw in a whole breath, if he couldn’t even open his mouth to gasp for air.  He wasn’t really here.  He was alone in a cell, like he had been for the past ages, and even if he could scream, it wouldn’t help.

Sam was hovering there.  Fake-Sam, illusion Sam, and Gabriel wanted to curl up and die, but he couldn’t.  So he settled for just curling up under the blankets, drawing in desperate, shallow breaths. 

“We need to get Cas in here,” Dean said, from a bit further away.  “He’s gonna make himself worse if we don’t get those big ones healed.”

Sam still hadn’t moved from the edge of the bed.  Gabriel hated him for it.  “He said no last time.  I don’t want to push him if he’s not ready-”

Had he said no to Castiel?  Gabriel couldn’t remember.  He was saying no to Sam right now, but the hunter was still here.  He wondered how long it would take for the lack of oxygen to make his lips and fingers turn blue.  He wondered if the lack of air would make him pass out again.  That would be a nice reprieve. 

“Sam, look at him.”

There was silence for a moment, and Gabriel forced his breathing back to a normal pace.  But then he choked on it, and he forgot pretending he was fine, sitting up and covering his face with his hands as he tried to figure out how to cough with only his nose and one lung.  There was too much pain and pressure in his chest.  And yet he still shoved Sam’s supporting hand away, refusing the help. 

He couldn’t bear it, to have that ghost of comfort ripped away. 

And then, even through the choking fit, there were hands on him, and he lashed out, twisting and clawing at the firm touch, wrenching his shattered knee, moaning even through the stitches as bone ground on bone-

And then it was over.  The pain was gone, replaced only by the tingling of familiar grace. 

Gabriel slumped backwards, letting out a breath, and Castiel stepped away from the side of the bed.  They were talking now, the three of them, but Gabriel didn’t care.  He didn’t care what they said, as Castiel gave a checklist of injuries he’d just healed.  He didn’t care that Sam and Dean were speaking in low tones, or that Castiel’s voice had suddenly dropped to an urgent level.

He didn’t even care that his mouth was still stitched closed. 

All he cared was that suddenly there was no pain, and he was exhausted, and that he was going to take advantage of the illusion of a bed.

***

“Gabe, Gabe, hey, it’s okay.  It’s okay.  It’s me.  It’s just Sam, you know me…”

The fog of sleep cleared, and Gabriel was exactly where he had been trying to avoid, nestled in Sam’s arms.  His face was wet with tears, which was embarrassing- Asmodeus was probably getting off on seeing him cry. 

Sam slowly rubbed circles onto Gabriel’s back, and the hunter was warm, his soul a hot water heater for Gabriel’s damaged grace.  It was the middle of the night, and he was laying in Sam’s arms, and it felt so good to have the gentle touch that it made his breath hitch.

“I know,” Sam kept whispering.  “I know.  You’re safe.”

He needed to shove Sam away.  Better yet, a violent strike, something to prove that there was still something left to Gabriel, that he wasn’t just some angel bug to pluck the wings from.  And yet here he was, trembling, head resting against the illusion’s chest.  It was so warm, it was _wrong_ \- He trusted Sam, much as he could trust anyone, and somewhere, Asmodeus was probably laughing at how pathetic Gabriel was, at how he could be broken down by a single touch after a nightmare he couldn’t even remember. 

It killed him, but he pushed at the hunter, shoving him away, despite the tears still pricking at his eyes.  This torture was all tricks of the mind- Asmodeus knew angels were flocking creatures, that Gabriel _needed_ companionship as much as a human needed food, so what better way to break him down than to dangle what he wanted most right in front of his nose? 

“Gabriel,” Sam murmured, pulling away so that there were a few inches between them on the bed.  “It’s really me.  You know that, don’t you?”

He drew in a shaky breath and pulled his knees to his chest, hugging them.  There was no longer any pain in his leg.  Fake-Castiel had repaired it, and yet, Gabriel still didn’t trust it.  If he tried to walk, it would simply collapse again, or the illusion would allow him to walk only up to the point that it was corrupted or faded away. 

Sam sat back, chewing on his lip.  “Gabriel, look at me.”

Gabriel didn’t look.  He couldn’t look, lest he remind himself of what he was missing.  He couldn’t trust this reality.  The stitches still holding his mouth shut were a stark reminder of that, that he couldn’t trust anything. 

He ran his finger over them, over the ridges of scarring and twine and piercings and swollen flesh, reminding himself of the truth of the matter.  Sam seemed to be right there, but it was no more than a lie, another trick to break him down.  But he would not break.  He was Gabriel, the archangel, messenger and purveyor of justice, but he was also Loki, trickster and deceiver, and both his names represented a being of stubbornness and independence. 

He didn’t need anyone. 

When Sam reached out, he smacked the hunter’s hand away, and then he pulled the blankets around his shoulders.  He was so tired.  It would almost be a gift to die right now, to feel his grace finally ebb away, leaving only darkness.  Maybe Raphael would be there.

His breath hitched at the thought of Raphael, and he buried his head in his hands.  Raphael deserved that peace more than he did, and yet he longed for it, longed for his brother, for the healer’s gentle touch and impatient expressions.  Raphael would laugh at him, point out how ridiculous it was for an archangel to be in this position, point out that there was no reason for him to be so upset about the whole thing. 

And yet, he was upset.  He wanted to scream, wanted to destroy everything, wanted to splatter blood on the walls and watch people tremble.  He was a god once, a being of light and power, and now he was quivering in some forsaken dungeon while the illusion of a human worried over him.  And it hurt so much, the stitches in his mouth- he couldn’t speak or scream or eat-

And the father almighty knew he was hungry.  He was starving, and he couldn’t eat, and all he wanted was something dense and sweet that would leave him feeling awake and alert and alive- literally anything.  He’d settle for chewing on raw sugar cane if that was all he could get, but he couldn’t even have that, and he was trapped here forever-

He didn’t even realize he was crying again, until he dragged his fingers down his face and they came back wet.  That was pathetic.  He was pathetic, sitting here in this stupid illusion crying over food.  He didn’t even need it, technically, just like he didn’t need oxygen or water.  And yet his grace was so weak, and he was so hungry…

And fake-Sam couldn’t restrain himself when he saw the stupid, useless tears, _of course_ , and suddenly he was holding onto Gabriel again, and Gabriel couldn’t even bring himself to shove the illusion away.  It felt too warm, too real, and now he was silently weeping into its chest, even as fake-Sam pulled the blankets over them both and held him close.  Sam was murmuring comforting nothings as they lay there, his voice so low that it was more a vibration in his chest than anything else, and Gabriel hated himself for how he clung to the illusion, to the lie. 

***

He must have fallen asleep, because when he next opened his eyes, it was light out, and his face was sticky with the remnants of tears.  The only pain now was his mouth, the enchanted wire stinging more now that it wasn’t dwarfed by the other wounds.  But the more worrisome part was that he was waking up in Sam’s arms, and the hunter was still sleeping beside him.

Gabriel turned to look at him, careful not to jostle him.  In the soft dawn light that filtered through the windows, Sam’s hair was tossed over his face.  His soul was warm, flickering against the broken remains of Gabriel’s grace, and for a few moments, he considered the idea that maybe this was real, that maybe he was free. 

It was a hopeless, impossible idea, and he tried to crush it as soon as he thought it, but now it had lodged deep in his grace, and he knew, as soon as Asmodeus took away the illusion, he would be a wreck. 

But he could enjoy the moments of freedom, right?

Careful not to jostle Sam, he extricated himself from the hunter’s perfect arms, replacing his own body with a pillow so Sam wouldn’t wake, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  For a moment he hesitated, but his mangled leg was healed like it had never been destroyed, so he took a breath and stood. 

There was no pain.  There was the stinging in his mouth, of course, and the gnawing hunger that was making him feel incredibly sympathetic towards vampires, but other than that his vessel felt normal. 

He wished his mind felt normal too, but that wasn’t to be helped. 

Walking was a shaky endeavor, as he refigured his own balance, but he made it to the bathroom fine, shutting the door with a quiet click.  If Asmodeus was locking him in this luxury vision (and how pathetic that he considered a cheap motel room to be luxury now?) he was going to take advantage. 

It was a relief to strip off the clothes he’d been wearing the last few days, though it was the first time he noticed that they were different from the clothes he’d been imprisoned in.  Faded sweatpants with the Stanford University logo down the leg (and oh, did he have some fun stories about the founder of Stanford, that dick), and a plain t-shirt that was too big for him, which wasn’t surprising considering that the Winchesters were on the larger side for humans.  Which meant that at some point, the illusions had stripped him down, washed the blood and dirt from his body, and dressed him.

Sam had mentioned a shower, during one of his waking moments.  Gabriel winced as he imagined the scene.  He hoped Asmodeus had enjoyed himself. 

He didn’t meant to catch sight of himself in the full length mirror when he turned to move a towel closer to the tub, and he regretted pausing a moment to analyze the damage.  Pale skin that would blind people at the beach, stark ribs where his vessel had never been skinny before, and of course the stitches on his mouth, red and raw like he was some eldritch creature to be silenced.

He supposed he was. 

His eyes scared him, even though they were his own, because they were not his own.  Dark circles marred the pale flesh, and he looked like a hunted creature, like a fox who knows the hounds are closing in.  The color of the irises was the same as Loki’s, but the expression was something he had only seen on his own face perhaps twice before. 

Snorting, he turned his back on the mirror and stepped into the tub.  It took him a moment to figure the water- all motels had to have such strange ways to turn on their showers- but he did, and after a moment of biting cold that made him clench his teeth behind the stitches, he found the right temperature.

Clearly, they had been camped here a few days, at least.  The fake brothers had brought their own soap, and Gabriel helped himself, washing his hair for the first time in ages and letting the water run the suds down his body. 

The pressure was amazing, and he could already feel some of the tension draining from his muscles as he sank down to sit on the floor of the tub, head lowered, letting the water card through his hair.  The shampoo smelled like Sam.  The body wash smelled like it had been in the dollar bin at the local grocery store. 

He could have sat there forever, letting the warm water wash over him, but then someone was knocking on the door.  “Gabe, you good?”

And of course, he couldn’t just shout back that he was fine, so he sighed through his nose, turned off the water, and wrapped the towel around his waist.  It wasn’t like it really mattered- they had already seen him naked, after all.  But it was the semblance of normalcy that made his chest ache with longing. 

When he pulled open the door, sure enough, Sam was standing there.  Gabriel rolled his eyes and pushed by the taller hunter, moving towards one of the duffel bags to steal clean clothes that hadn’t been worn for who knew how many days straight. 

But Sam had other ideas, and Gabriel glanced over when he heard plastic rustling.  “I stopped by the store yesterday,” he said, a bit awkwardly.  “Figured you’d want something that wasn’t hand-me-downs from us.”

Ah, the other day when he’d woken up alone.  Gabriel had never seen what was in the bags. 

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so…” Sam shrugged awkwardly as Gabriel pawed through the offering.

Walmart.  He supposed he couldn’t argue, but really?  Asmodeus couldn’t have sprang for something a bit nicer in this vision?  It wasn’t to be helped though.  For a moment, he considered whether to go with jeans or sweatpants, but it wasn’t like he was going anywhere anytime soon, so he chose the sweatpants.  He didn’t bother to return to the bathroom to change.  He had nothing to hide, though he wasn’t at all pleased with how much his ribs were sticking out.  There was a difference between slim and sickly, and he looked like he needed a hospital. 

And of course, that was only a stark reminder that he still couldn’t eat. 

He dressed quickly, and were his lips not useless, he would have asked Sam how it had been buying him underwear.  But the joke felt dull now, even in his own head, so he didn’t even try to write it down.  Maybe if the sign language had been a viable option, he could have flashed something at Sam, but then teaching him would require a lot of work, and he didn’t have the energy for it.

Sam was looking away respectfully while Gabriel dressed, bless his soul, and he only looked back when Gabriel sat heavily on the bed, his hair drying into soft curls.  He didn’t bother styling it.  It didn’t matter. 

Sam cleared his throat, and Gabriel looked up at him.  “So, if you’re up to it, I thought we could get on the road.  Get you back to the bunker, where it’s better warded.”

Gabriel shrugged.  It wasn’t like it mattered.  He hesitated, and then reached for the pad of paper again. 

_Dean? Castiel?_

Sam’s eyes flicked away.  “They’re… they’re dealing with Asmodeus.”

Gabriel’s breath hitched at the name, despite himself, and of course Sam was there a heartbeat later, sitting on the bed beside him.  “You’re safe, Gabe.  I promise.  We need the original spell that was used on… on your mouth.  So they’re hunting him down-”

Gabriel held up a hand and shook his head.

Sam hesitated.  “Gabe, it’s okay.  I promise, you’ll never see him again.  You didn’t deserve what happened-”

Gabriel reached out and covered Sam’s mouth with his hand to shut him up, because he did not want to hear about what he did and didn’t deserve right now.  Then he grabbed the pad of paper.  _Kernel doesn’t know shit.  Dwarves did it.  Fuckin traitors.  I hate them._ Then he hesitated.

“Dwarves?” Sam looked a little too eager for knowledge.  “Like, the same ones from the myth?  How can we…” 

But Gabriel was ignoring him, considering.  _archangel blade should work.  Purity and shit.  Asmo has one, dunno who’s_ , he wrote, and showed it to Sam.  His hands were shaking as he did.  No way it would actually work.  Because that would mean he was actually free, and the hope of that… no, the hope of that was blooming in his chest like some sickening poison, and it would destroy him if he let himself believe in it.  His fingers clenched on the paper, crumpling it. 

He couldn’t let himself hope.

But Sam was hoping enough for them both now.  He had a big happy grin on his face, and it made Gabriel want to scream.  “An archangel blade?  That’s- Gabe, that’s amazing.  We’ll just find it and then… then you’ll believe it.  That you’re free.”  He reached out to touch Gabriel’s arm, trying to catch his eye.  “Because you are free, Gabe.  This isn’t just some lie.  I’m right here, and you’re safe.”

Gabriel’s breath caught, and he ducked his head away.  He didn’t want to hear it.  The lies were a poison, dripping through his thoughts, and this time Sigyn wasn’t there to catch it and whisk it away. 

He was alone.

He was alone, and he was starving, and his mouth hurt, and there was a human gazing at him with so much pity that it hurt.  He wanted to accept it.  He wanted to throw himself into the human’s arms and sob, but that would be about the same as taking shots of poison, and he would suffer all the more for it when he was back in that cell. 

So he just sat there, his hair falling in curls around his face, his eyes cast down towards the ground. 

Sam made a sad little noise, and touched his shoulder, before he started to move around the room to pick things up.  “It’ll be about a day to get to the bunker,” he said, keeping his voice calm.  “There’s plenty of room, and we’ll get you some fresh sheets, some more clothes.  The Netflix password.”  He hesitated, somewhere behind Gabriel.  “You can catch up on that stupid show you and Dean watch.  Doctor McDreamy, was it?”

Gabriel couldn’t help the snort at that, though it was small and half-hearted. 

Sam shoved laundry and spare toiletries from the bathroom into the duffel before pulling his phone from his pocket.  The last time Gabriel had seen a phone was when Asmodeus had paused a torture session to pull his out and check something, and he’d realized that technology had zipped past without his realizing.  And Sam had a similar phone, though not exactly the same. 

He really was behind the times. 

“I’m just calling Dean,” Sam said, as it rang, and Gabriel shrugged, not particularly caring either way.  He zoned as Sam told Dean about the archangel blade, that they had to find that before they did anything else.  There was a hasty conversation, awkward where Sam avoided saying anything aloud that he thought might push Gabriel towards a panic attack, and then Sam was hoisting the duffel over his shoulder. 

“Are you good, Gabe?”  He stepped towards him, holding out a hand.  “If you want to stay here an extra day or so, there’s no problem, but the bunker is safer…”

Gabriel shook his head at the question and stood, ignoring the hand. 

The sun was blinding when he stepped outside, behind Sam, and he had to duck his head to avoid burning his eyes.  The smell of winter hung on the chilly breeze, crisp and cool, a memory of a colder land, a colder time, when Loki had reigned over his people…

Sam waited while Gabriel stood on the threshold, just breathing, like an animal that had been set free.  The cold air raised goosebumps on his flesh, but even that felt good, real, like he was truly alive, and he raised his face up towards the sun, closing his eyes and reveling in the feeling. 

Sam tossed the bag in the back of the car- it wasn’t the Impala, it was a rental- and then returned to stand beside Gabriel.  It was a few minutes later that the archangel finally moved, stepping gingerly across the parking lot towards the car, to curl obediently in the front passenger seat like a dog going to the vet. 

It was the moment Sam got into the driver’s seat that his stomach decided to do an imitation of a whale call, and he curled tighter, looking away.  Sam glanced over sharply, like it had only just occurred to him that Gabriel hadn’t eaten at all while he was with them.  There was silence for a moment, and then Sam broke it.  “You need to eat.”

He shot a glare in Sam’s direction.  Duh.  But there was nothing to be done, and he couldn’t even part his lips enough for water, let alone food.  He was stuck until someone found a way to fix his mouth. 

Sam swallowed hard, and then turned on the car to back out of the spot.  “Cas and Dean are gonna get that blade from him, and then…”

Great.  So who knew how long that would be?  Gabriel slumped in the seat and turned to look out the window.  Sam, for lack of anything else, turned on the radio.

And it was that moment, that some new singer that Gabriel had never heard before started singing, that he realized he hadn’t thought this to be fake in several minutes.  He’d forgotten the truth of it, had started to imagine that this was real, that Sam was right there.  That he really was free. 

The lies were the only thing he could eat right now.

***

He woke up to the crinkling of a wrapper.  The sound made his heart pound like a boy discovering porn for the first time, and he was ashamed of how quickly he whipped around in the seat to fix his eyes on the granola bar in Sam’s hands.

Sam winced.  “Sorry- I didn’t mean to wake you…” 

They were still driving, and Gabriel supposed Sam needed breakfast.  And, he supposed that he appreciated the hunter trying to keep it on the down low, shoving the granola bar into his mouth before Gabriel woke up, but…

Sam had severely underestimated the Pavlovian effect crinkling wrappers had on him.  Even in normal times, Gabriel could hear that sound across a house, and now, like a starving dog, he honed in on it.

Of course, Sam looked miserable, like instead of dragging Gabriel out of that cell, he’d shoved him down and kicked him.  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, moving the granola bar out of Gabriel’s line of sight.  “I just needed something to focus on the road…”

Gabriel rolled his eyes like it was no big deal, and leaned back in the seat.  He felt more awake now than he had in a while, but he felt shaky too, empty.  He was running on the bare minimum of grace to keep him alive, and now that he wasn’t focused on all his wounds, there was only the hunger. 

He wanted to complain.  Hell, he wanted to whine, or scream, or even break down in tears, but he settled for hugging his arms around his stomach and glaring out the window. 

And even that was a pleasant change.  He didn’t feel pathetic right now.  He just felt angry, so angry that it burned white hot in his grace, deep inside, set aflame by the animal hunger of his vessel.

“Gabe?”  Sam had finished the granola bar in two apologetic bites, and now he was glancing over, between Gabriel and the road.  “You good?”

Gabriel’s fingers clenched into a fist at the question, so hard that he was surprised that the tendons weren’t tearing themselves free from his bones.

He was kidding himself.  He didn’t want sugar. 

He wanted blood. 

Sacrifice.

His breath was coming too hard for just his nose, burning through his sinuses, and he could smell Sam’s blood, sense his very soul.  A teensy part of him pitied the vampires, but the other part understood now, because there was blood pumping through Sam’s carotid-

And he wasn’t Gabriel.  He was Loki Laufeyson.  Frost giant, pagan god.  He was mayhem and blood and tricks that left people gasping as their life drained over the flagstones.  He was the chaos of the night, the eldritch being that brought justice to the damned-

“ _GABRIEL_.”

And he realized they were pulled over, and he was straddling Sam, fingers digging into the soft flesh above the collar bone, and Sam’s eyes were wide even as he was tensed to defend himself. 

For a moment, his fingers trailed down Sam’s chest, and then he jerked away like he’d been burned, breathing hard through his nose.  Blood slicked his palms- he’d clenched his fists so tight that his nails left half-moon cuts across his palms.  He refused to look at the mortal, at the stupid mortal who was helping him, and instead leaned his head against the window, breathing slowly. 

Only when he’d gotten his heartrate down did he groan audibly, hugging his middle again.  He was powerless and starving, and he wasn’t sure if he’d been trying to eat Sam, or his soul, or had simply lost control.  Whatever it was, it was embarrassing.  And now he was thinking about blood, about animal sacrifice and ancient stone knives.

He tried to think about candy again, but it wasn’t working.

“Gabe, hey, hey.”  Sam hesitated a moment, clearly worried for his own safety, but then when Gabriel didn’t lunge at him again, he leaned over to touch his arm.  “Hey, what do you need?”

At the safe, gentle touch, Gabriel’s breath hitched, and he leaned over to press his face into Sam’s shoulder.  He needed it, needed the grounding, whether this was a dream or a trick or reality.  Sam felt real enough, and Gabriel’s breath came harsh and ragged when Sam wrapped his arms around him.  “It’s okay, Gabe,” Sam murmured, and now the car was off, and they were both sitting there, the taller holding the smaller.  “I’ve got you.”

Gabriel’s breath hitched again, as he pressed his face to Sam’s chest, and then, in an awkward, shaky motion, he reached out with one hand to write a single word in the dust on the dashboard.  The letters were shivery and smudged, but the meaning was clear:

_blood_

Sam’s breath caught when he saw it.  “Gabe,” he whispered again, and Gabriel did his best to burrow into Sam, burying his face in layers of flannel and t-shirt.  There would be no sacrifice.  Sam was too good a man for that, and Loki was nothing but a starving heathen. 

“I know,” Sam murmured though, rubbing his back.  “I know how you feel.  I know.  Just… just go to sleep.  We’ll be back at the bunker soon.” 

Gabriel’s breath was still shaking, but Sam’s murmurs and the solid motion of his hand was calming, letting Gabriel lose himself in the sound of someone else’s heartbeat.  He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, hugging across the console, but Gabriel was drifting when Sam finally let go of him, and then he was leaning in the passenger seat, unconscious as soon as they got back on the road.

***

He could smell sugar-smoke, sweet and hot, burning as it raised to the Heavens.  The smell enveloped him, filled his nose and sinuses until he could taste it in his useless mouth, hot and sweet and all for him.  There was a voice, as well, a murmur in his head, and Gabriel realized, as the taste of the sweet awoke him, that he was listening to a prayer. 

“I dedicate this offering to Loki Laufeyson, the Trickster, Prince of Asgard and Brother of Odin.”

And then, the smell of the smoke changed, and Gabriel was fully awake, and when he looked out the window, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection.  His pupils had blown wide at the scent, his grace coiling under his skin in recognition and desire.

Blood.  The new smell was blood.

“I dedicate this offering to Saint Gabriel the Archangel, Messenger of the Lord and Purveyor of Justice.”

Gabriel’s breath hitched, and it took a moment for his shaking hands to grab the door handle.

They had pulled over to the side of the road, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and Sam was standing a few feet from the road, holding his fist over a small fire.  Drops of red dripped from his clenched fingers, and each one that landed on the flames hissed, sending up a near invisible curl of steam. 

A good sacrifice.  There was an empty Swedish fish bag, an empty pastry container, and Sam’s blood, dripping over the flames, lending power to the food, and Gabriel could each molecule on an individual level, sugar and corn syrup and iron, and the dark delight made him shiver.

He leaned against the car, tilting his head up, stretching out his wings for the first time in ages as he accepted the power, the sacrifice.  It had been so long since he had tasted blood, so long since his pagan days in Asgard.  When Sam opened his fist to let the last drops fall faster, it sent a violent shiver through Gabriel’s body as the memory of screaming battlefields and worshipers wailing his name flashed in his head.

And it stopped too fast, as the shallow cut on Sam’s hand slowly scabbed, and he straightened, looking over at Gabriel.  “Did that… I dunno if that did anything, but I read in a book-”

Gabriel jumped forward, throwing his arms around Sam.  He would have kissed him if his mouth were free- he wanted to kiss the man more than he’d ever wanted anything in that moment.  The taste of Sam’s blood was hot on his tongue, despite the stitches, and he wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, a leg around his thigh, trying to get as close as he could without his lips.

He wanted his mouth back.  He wanted to taste more of that, to taste the energy of Sam, to taste his soul.  He wanted Sam’s blood, Sam’s lips, Sam’s tongue- His frustration was thrown outwards, and one of the headlights burst on the car, glass scattering over the road-

“Hey, hey.”  Sam smiled awkwardly and gently pushed him off.  “I’m glad it worked.”

Gabriel’s breath hitched again as he looked up at Sam, trying to imagine the hunter’s mouth on his, not bothering to hide it.  But he couldn’t kiss the man.  He was trapped, and it was like they’d crippled him, and he’d had no idea how important his mouth was before that moment. 

“Feeling a little better?”  Sam kicked out the fire, stamping the sugar-sticky embers until there was no chance of a stray breeze setting them alight.  “Let’s get going.  We’ll get you some real food when we fix your mouth.”

Were his mouth free, he would have nipped Sam’s collarbone before returning to the car, just hard enough to bring heat to the skin, to redden it, but he couldn’t.  He settled for trailing a hand over Sam’s hip, outside his shirt, but it wasn’t the same, and he slumped, turning back to the car. 

Sam’s face was bright red when he took the driver’s side again, and he cleared his throat, not looking at Gabriel.  “Um,” he said, and Gabriel didn’t care that he was about to be rejected, because Sam should have looked into the connotations of a sacrifice to Loki.  Sam was learned enough that he shouldn’t have been surprised.  “I’m glad it worked, and you’re feeling better, but you don’t need to…”

Gabriel glanced over.  Sun glanced off Sam’s eyes, casting a kaleidoscope of green and gold and brown.  He’d been expecting a request to not be jumped, but this was something different.

Sam wasn’t making eye contact.  “You don’t need to feel like you need to… repay me, or anything like that.  Um… it was just… a blood sacrifice.  Between friends.”

He was still high on Sam’s life.  He let out a snort through his nose at that- Sam thought that was repayment?  Please.  If Gabriel didn’t like Sam, Sam wouldn’t be alive.  He would be dead, and Gabriel would have eaten his soul, digging into the power that was _Sam Winchester_ to sustain himself.  He was desperate right now, and blood…

Okay, maybe he was high.  He could definitely accept that, and everything looked bright and metallic, and his broken grace was thrumming under his skin.  He wanted more.

But Sam had given all that he wanted to give, and Gabriel had to accept that.  So he looked out the window, plucking at the stitches on his mouth, imagining the taste of Sam’s lips rather than the metallic crust of scabs and magic.

***

_That was weird._

He paused, then crossed out weird.

_That was ~~weird~~ out of line and I’m ~~sorry~~ very sorry that I tried ~~to jump your super hot bod~~ to invade your personal space.  ~~I didn’t expect~~    ~~I didn’t~~  I ~~appreciated loved really enjoyed~~_ ~~~~

Gabriel huffed and looked down at the scrap of receipt paper in his hands. It had been a few hours, and the urgent high of the blood sacrifice had worn off to leave Gabriel feeling… not satisfied, per se, but better.  The hunger was still there, but it had been reduced to a physical feeling, easily ignored.  His weak grace had been satiated for the moment.  When his grace had stopped thrumming with the energy, when his thoughts had returned to something akin to clarity, he’d glanced towards Sam…

And realized that he’d basically tried to make out with his only ally, who had simply been trying to give him an energy boost.  And Sam was looking stoically at the road, not at him at all, and it had been with a wave of panic that he’d realized that he could have alienated the only person in the entire world who cared that he was alive. 

He wasn’t good at apologies.  He wasn’t good at being silent.  He wanted his mouth back so he could crack joke and lighten the situation, but he couldn’t, so he was stuck with a receipt paper and a pen that he’d found between the seats.  The pad of paper at the motel… well, it was still at the motel. 

_That was ~~weird~~ out of line and I’m ~~sorry~~ very sorry that I tried ~~to jump your super hot bod~~ to invade your personal space.  ~~I didn’t expect~~    ~~I didn’t~~  I ~~appreciated loved really enjoyed~~ Sacrifice hit me harder than I thought.  ~~You should be honored.~~   I swear that’s not ~~normally how I am~~ what I meant and _

He glanced towards the gas station.  Sam had stopped for coffee, and a bathroom no doubt, and there had been an awkward moment where he started to ask Gabriel if he wanted anything. 

Clearly, he did, but that wasn’t possible, so he’d just shooed Sam away and scrambled for writing supplies. 

But the blood had done its job.  Gabriel felt clearer now, less like he was going to break down at any moment, and it had also cemented his one great hope: that this was real.

Asmodeus could not replicate the high of a pagan sacrifice.  That was something that could only be genuine, and to make that feeling, he’d have to make a genuine sacrifice, which would grant power to the deity receiving it, and granting power to the most important captive was not a smart idea, tactically speaking.

Which meant this was real.  This was really Sam, and he was really free, and maybe his lips were still sewn shut, but that was less of a major concern and more of a speedbump now.  He’d take a knife to them himself, when they arrived at the Winchesters’ hidey-hole, and then…

But first, he still needed Sam. 

No- he didn’t need Sam now, not now that his injuries were healed.  His grace was still weak, working at the bare minimum to keep his heart pumping, but that would regenerate with time. 

But he wanted Sam.  He wanted Sam like a man in a desert wants water.  He wanted the gentle touches and the consoling words and the assurance that he wasn’t _alone_.

And that want, that need, served the double purpose of both making him feel absolutely pathetic, and also had him drafting out a letter while Sam was in the gas station.  And he hated himself for it, hated apologizing for anything, but…

But he didn’t want to be alone.  Not now.  Maybe later, but not now.  He needed friendship, support. 

Reassurance that he was still alive.

_That was ~~weird~~ out of line and I’m ~~sorry~~ very sorry that I tried ~~to jump your super hot bod~~ to invade your personal space.  ~~I didn’t expect~~    ~~I didn’t~~  I ~~appreciated loved really enjoyed~~ Sacrifice hit me harder than I thought.  ~~You should be honored.~~   I swear that’s not ~~normally how I am~~ what I meant ~~and~~ ~~please don’t be mad~~ it won’t happen again.  _

_Thank you.  I mean, seriously, I really appreciate this.  I owe you ~~one~~ fifty._

He skimmed it over again, and was about to crumple it up and start over on a new receipt, but Sam was walking out of the gas station, and he didn’t want to let this one hang. 

“Doing all right?” Sam asked as he slid back into the car.  “We’re almost there.  Two more hours, maybe.  An hour and a half if there’s no traffic.”  He hesitated, and glanced over.  “Your pupils don’t look like a cat’s anymore.”

Gabriel ignored that and shoved the receipt into Sam’s hands, then looked away before Sam could see the pink on his cheeks, the shame at being so low that he needed to write an apology letter to his only friend in the world. 

There was a crinkle as Sam read it, and then he heard the slight intake of breath.  He wasn’t sure what that meant, whether it was good or bad, but then there was a hand on his shoulder.  “You’re fine, Gabe.”

He huffed out a breath.  Here was the part where he needed to make a joke, but even were his mouth free, none were coming to mind.  It had been too long since he’d had speech at his disposal.

“Really.  I’ve been there, Gabe.  I know how it feels.  Maybe not on your level, but…” Sam hesitated.  “You don’t need to pretend to be okay.  Not with me.”  He paused.  “And I shoulda warned you about what I was going to do.  I didn’t know it was such a potent thing.”

A few drops of blood, a few snack foods… that wasn’t powerful.  But grace low, tolerance down, it had been enough.  And invoking both names always gave Gabriel a bit of a rush, though he kept that to himself.  Nobody needed to know that the reason the Vikings had a particular affinity for Christian monasteries was because the Viking trickster was practically addicted to the prayers.

When Gabriel still didn’t look, Sam fell quiet a moment.  “You don’t need to thank me,” the hunter finally said.  “I want to help you.”

That was, frankly, ridiculous, because it wasn’t like they’d ever been solid allies.  But Gabriel was an archangel, a weapon that could be used, and it wasn’t hard to figure out that he was more sympathetic towards people who were nice to him.  He’d fight for the Winchesters now more than he would have before, obviously, but it wasn’t like-

“We’re friends, Gabe.”  Sam hesitated.  “Or at least, I consider you a friend.  I mean… you helped us out.  You died for us.  And your heart was always in the right place.”

Gabriel still didn’t look up, because look where dying, or rather, not dying, had gotten him.

Sam squeezed his shoulder.  “This is real, Gabe.  I’m not gonna leave you.  Okay?  You’re safe now.” 

He wished Sam would shut up.  He hadn’t meant this to be a big touchy feely moment.  He wanted to make a joke, but now Sam was telling him he wasn’t going to leave, and that hit him deep down, where a human didn’t have a right to hit him. 

Sam was on a role though.  “We’re gonna get back to the bunker, and we’re gonna get you talking again, and then you can stay there and heal, if you want.  We have plenty of rooms, and we owe you that much. Hell, Dean makes some great pancakes.”

Gabriel bit the inside of his lip, tasting blood, and glanced over at Sam, suddenly feeling fragile again.  It was pathetic, how much he needed those words.  He was Loki Laufeyson, and he didn’t need reassurance from some mortal man. 

But Sam looked genuine, so he just shrugged and bit down on one of the wounds inside his mouth to keep from crying, and looked out the window again.

***

The sun was just starting to go down when they pulled up outside the bunker, and Gabriel stirred himself out of the doze he’d been settling into.  The familiar Impala was already there, and he could sense the buzzing of wards around the old building.  It was a safe place, though Gabriel got a distinct feeling that he was unwelcome. 

Sure enough, when they got out of the car and he tried to follow Sam inside, it was like a shock zapping through his vessel, and for a moment he was on the table again, the generator clamped to his collar bones, silver grace dripping from the probes as Asmodeus screwed them tighter and mused on what voltage an archangel’s grace could carry-

“Gabe, Gabe, hey.” 

His breath hitched, and he realized he was in Sam’s arms again.  It had been quick, thirty seconds maybe, and it was disgusting, because it wasn’t like Gabriel had been caught in wards before.  Practically everyone who knew him warded against him, and he was a popular god- of course the Men of Letters knew his wards.  It wasn’t against him personally- it wasn’t Sam-

“Hey, look at me…” Sam was holding him, rubbing his arms.  “Just breathe.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize… Dean’s looking through the warding right now.”

He wanted to push Sam away, but his hands were shaking, and for a moment he wanted to just collapse into the hunter’s chest.

But he was okay- he was up and walking, and the had to be okay, and he took a breath through his nose and leaned down to drawn a rune in the dust himself, to shatter the ward against himself before Dean, somewhere inside, could figure out how.  He knew his own wards.  This specific one had been created by one of his exes.  It was of no danger.

As soon as he’d traced the rune at the base of the ward, it glowed for a moment and vanished, leaving him feeling even more drained than before as his own power negated that specific ward. 

His own power, which he currently possessed very little of.  The boost he’d gotten from Sam’s sacrifice was gone now, and his hands were shaking again, so he shoved them in his pockets and pulled away, walking down the steps like he belonged there.  He ignored the worried look on Sam’s face.  He didn’t want to see it.

The door was unlocked, and he paused on the landing to look over the main room, tilting his head.  He hadn’t been to this bunker specifically, but he’d been to others (mostly through Men of Letters summonings).  They all seemed to follow a similar floorplan, so he trotted down the stairs like he didn’t feel like he was going to keel over again soon. 

“Hey, you- oh.  You got in.”  Dean looked in from the other room.  “You guys doing okay?  We got the blade.  Ketch got pretty beat up in the process, but…” He shrugged.

Gabriel didn’t know who Ketch was.  He didn’t care.  He held out a hand, quirking a brow up.

Dean blinked.  “Ah, right.  It’s here.”  He disappeared in the library again. 

Sam started to follow, but Gabriel hovered at the foot of the stairs, not sure if he was being welcomed or not.  Sam glanced back, and smiled.  “Come on.  Let’s fix you up.” 

***

It wasn’t Gabriel’s blade. 

Gabriel wasn’t sure why he’d assumed it would be his own blade.  He hadn’t seen his own blade in ages, obviously not carrying it when he left Heaven.  It was Raphael’s, of all the archangels, and he supposed that made sense, because Raphael was dead, but-

But he couldn’t touch it. 

He willed himself to reach out and take it from Dean’s hands, but his fingers did little more than twitch, and it wasn’t his to take.  It wasn’t like he physically couldn’t- it wasn’t warded against him, after all.  But it just… it wasn’t his.

Dean’s eyes flicked from Gabriel to Sam, and then Sam solved the problem by taking the blade himself.  “C’mon, Gabe,” he murmured, leading him towards the kitchen.  “We’re gonna fix you up.”

Dean trailed after them, and then the three of them were in the kitchen, and Gabriel leaned back against the counter, feigning casual as he watched Dean set a small pot of water on the stove to boil, to sterilize the washcloths that would have to be used to loosen the scabbing.

He knew this all, because it had happened before- thousands of years before, and it had been Thor who’d cut the threads and dabbed at the piercings.  The storm god had been incredibly gentle back then, and Gabriel wondered if maybe that was why he trusted Sam now-

“You should sit,” Sam said.  He had two knives laid out on the table.  Raphael’s blade was there, to break the initial thread and nullify the curse, and another, smaller paring knife, for more control in removing the others. 

Those knives, so sharp that they glinted in the harsh kitchen light. 

Gabriel swallowed hard, and gingerly sat on one of the chairs, wrapping his wings close around his shoulders despite himself.  This had to be done.  He’d feel better once it was done.  He knew he would, knew it had to be.  And yet, as Dean brought the now sterile, damp clothes over to start the process, his heart rate shot up. 

This wasn’t another torture.  This was just Sam and Dean.

And now Sam was picking up the archangel blade, and it glinted, and despite himself, Gabriel flinched back, one hand moving to cover his mouth.  The stitching was rough against his palm, the scabs crusting and dirty.  It was a mess.  He was a mess.

“Oh Gabe,” Sam murmured, and he lowered it, moving closer.  “Hey, hey.  Just breathe, okay?”

Gabriel nodded and moved his hand, fingers moving to grip the edge of the chair. 

Then he caught a glimpse of Dean out of the corner of his eye, and he jumped like he’d been burnt.  Dean muttered an apology, moving within his line of sight, and Gabriel took a deep breath, looking up at Sam.  He didn’t give any sign of permission.  He didn’t know if he was able to.  He just wanted the stitches off.

His fingers dug into the wood of the chair when Sam moved closer, but he tilted his head up and closed his eyes.  The blade (and he needed to stop thinking of it as Raphael’s blade, because his brother was gone and there was no bringing the healer back), was too large to truly work with, and Gabriel steeled himself for the edge to nick his lips.

Sam pressed a warm, damp cloth against Gabriel’s mouth, and Gabriel didn’t mean to whimper in surprise.  He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making any more noise, even as Sam pressed the cloth against his mouth, loosening the ugly scabbing.  “You’re doing great,” Sam murmured.  “Just keep breathing, alright?  Don’t move.”

And then the knife was there, and it tingled with Raphael’s residual grace, so strong against Gabriel’s lips that he almost moaned.  But he bit his cheek and held his eyes shut, and a moment later there was a snick.

For a moment, the magic tingled as the spell died, ice cold on his lips, and then it was nothing but normal twine and wire, and Gabriel made another noise as Sam switched to the smaller knife.

It was slow work.  Between each stitch, Sam had to press the warm cloth to Gabriel’s lips to loosen the scabs, and each thread tugged at half healed piercings, opening up wounds that were already messy with scar tissue and blood and dirt.   Gabriel clenched his fingers against the wood of the chair, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out again- it wasn’t even particularly painful, though he could feel a drop of blood dripping down his chin.  It was just…

It was his mouth.

It was his mouth, and there was cold metal touching his lips, and it was just Sam- he had to keep reminding himself that it was just Sam.  There were no more curved stitching needles, no more laughing as the stitches were tightened.  It was just Sam, and once, when he jerked a little too hard, Dean, a solid hand on his shoulder. 

“Okay,” Sam murmured, finally stepping back.  “Okay.  It’s done.”

Gabriel opened his eyes, taking in a shaky breath- still through his nose, out of habit. 

But the pressure on his lips was gone, though they stung in a hundred little places, and, barely daring to hope, he half opened his mouth, taking another shaky breath. 

He would have laughed, if habit hadn’t killed the easy laughter he normally held.  He could taste the air- the only other time he’d been able to taste the air was when it was Thor who’d cut his lips free, but this time it was Sam, which didn’t matter.  It didn’t matter who it was.  What mattered was that he could taste the air and maybe his lips were bleeding, but he could spit the blood to the ground and he could lick his lips and open his jaw and he could-

He could eat.

He still didn’t speak as his eyes flicked to the fridge, and to his surprise, it was Dean who knew what he wanted, not Sam.  Dean, who’s life revolved around the same pleasures that Gabriel’s did, and Gabriel could have hugged the shorter hunter. 

“Musta been some crap cafeteria food there,” Dean commented easily as he stepped towards the fridge, pulling open the door.  “What do you want for your first meal as a free man?”

Gabriel considered the question.  He supposed Sam’s little sacrifice technically counted as his first meal, but he hadn’t actually put anything into his mouth, so this was a momentous occasion, and should have been considered as such- hell, actually, he could have just eaten a bag of sugar with a spoon. 

But Dean had two-thirds of a pie, which seemed a better option than plain sugar, and he held out a hand for it.  It still hurt too much to grin, but he thought Dean got the idea. 

Sam was hovering, even as Dean grabbed a fork for the archangel.  “Can you speak?” he asked, quiet and urgent.  “There’s nothing-”

Speaking wasn’t even the first thing that had come to mind, strangely enough, Gabriel realized.  Kissing though- that would be nice, but his mouth was still mangled and he wasn’t about to subject anybody to that.  He hadn’t kissed anybody since the blonde girl in his little suicide video, and that had been completely fake.  Porn sex wasn’t actually as fun to make as he pretended it was (although it was very fun to watch afterwards). 

Words were forgotten though as he dug the fork into the pie, not bothering with cutting himself a dainty slice.  And as soon as the cold apples touched his tongue, the sugar stinging against his lips, he forgot even sex, because the Father Almighty knew that Gabriel was starving. 

Another two bites in the space of a heartbeat, and Sam made a tskking noise, touching his shoulder.  “Don’t make yourself sick,” he commented, needlessly, and Gabriel, mouth full, made a vaguely threatening gesture with the fork. 

“Guy’s fine,” Dean said, leaning against the other side of the table.  “I doubt Asmo-dick was feeding him.  Besides, he’s an archangel.”

Gabriel, mouth still full, made a vague gesture towards Dean that seemed to imply agreement. 

Sam rolled his eyes and sat down next to him, watching him eat, which was, in Gabriel’s opinion, a little obnoxious, especially when Gabriel bit his own lip and the fork came back red.  Gabriel considered the blood for a moment, but the pause was enough long enough that suddenly he realized that he was _full_.

He took another bite, just to spite his own body, but that turned out to be a mistake, because now there was nausea, and no way, _no way_ was he going to throw up and get stomach acid all over his stupid broken mouth. 

Except, a few moments later, he was gagging over the toilet while Sam whispered softly to him, and it burned, all the way up his sinuses, all on his damaged mouth, and he wanted Sam to go away, to not see this _stupid, pathetic_ moment, except he couldn’t talk-

No. 

He realized it, his muscles stopped clenching enough for him to catch a breath.  He could talk.  But he hadn’t yet, and now certainly was not the time he wanted to remember, and he was panting too hard anyways to decide what to say. 

Sam was not going away.  In fact, Sam was waiting right there with a bottle of water like Gabriel was going to collapse if left on his own-

Which, he supposed, when left to his own devices he had ended up on the floor of the bunker bathroom, but that was beside the point. 

He snatched the water bottle from Sam, forcing himself to stand and rinse out his mouth in the sink.  Everything was burning, and the water was stained red as his lips bled anew, and he wished Sam would either go away or pretend nothing was wrong, because if he was so broken right now that he couldn’t even stand a slice of pie-

“It’s okay, Gabe,” Sam murmured, reaching out to touch his shoulder.  “It’s okay.”

Gabriel took a shaky breath and ran his fingers through his hair.  And now the hunger was back, which was just some cosmic joke, apparently, because heaven forbid his own body accept that he was free. 

Sam wanted to hug him.  Gabriel could see that, could see the hunter’s hands practically twitching in his desire to comfort, but Gabriel didn’t want comfort.  No, what he wanted was plain crackers, apparently, and _that_ was horrifying, because there was not a single sweet thing about it, but it was food, and right now he’d settle for  cooking and eating Sam’s perfect bicep, except very slowly, apparently, so his stomach wouldn’t realize what was happening.

He didn’t want comfort, and yet here he was, sinking to the side to lean against the hunter’s chest.  It wasn’t fair.

“I know,” Sam murmured, and there were arms wrapped around him now, and he wanted to shove them away but he wanted to hold them closer, wanted to grab onto that smallest bit of human comfort and hold on and never let go.

But he did let go, a moment later, because he heard Dean’s footsteps down the hall, and it was embarrassing enough that Sam had to see him like this, but Dean too?

He pulled away from Sam, coughed once, and rinsed out his mouth again.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know I put sheets on another bed,” Dean said, pausing outside the bathroom door.  “You good, Gabe?”

Gabriel made a face at him, and nodded.  When Sam came up behind him, hovering like a mother bird, he winced.

“Second one down the hall,” Dean said, gesturing vaguely in that direction.  “Let us know if you need anything.”

Gabriel nodded again and headed down in that direction.  Sam’s footsteps were audible behind him, and he held up a hand.  He needed a moment to breathe, to collect himself. 

Sam, thankfully, obeyed the hand, and then Gabriel was alone again.

He found the room easily enough- the door was open, and there were freshly laundered sheets on the bed, and the spare clothes Sam had bought were folded on the chair.  And- best of all- there was a plate on the bedside table, with plain toast and jam.  It was still warm. 

His lips were still stinging, but he picked up one of the pieces as he prowled the room, opening drawers and closet and private bath as he nibbled on crust and strawberry jam.  There was nothing interesting- it was militaristic, a copy meant to house one soldier in an army of many, but that was fine.  Gabriel had plenty of apartments scattered around the country, and this was just a temporary thing.

Temporary. 

The word felt good.  He was fine- he was temporarily inconvenienced maybe, but he was fine.

“Temporary,” he murmured aloud, and his vocal cords sounded like they’d been attacked by a solid case of strep, but it was his voice.  “I’m good.  I’ll be fine.”

He glanced in the mirror in the bathroom, and maybe his lips were still broken, but there was a bit more light in his eyes now.  He looked less like some imprisoned eldritch being, and more like Loki. 

He supposed Loki was some eldritch being that deserved to be imprisoned, but he felt only a flicker of pride at that thought.  He finished off the piece of toast and fell back on the bed, reveling in the softness of the sheets and the fact that he could move his mouth again.  “Loki’s back,” he murmured to the ceiling, cuddling the blankets around himself. 

***

Maybe he woke once or twice that night, but one of the times was because he’d dreamt of Kali and automatically tried to nip that little desire in the bud, and the other time was simply because he was thirsty.  And when he woke up the next morning, it was to the smell of pancakes.  There were no chains.  The door was half open, giving him the freedom to go where he wished, and the cuts on his mouth had healed to relatively painless scabs, unless he pulled at them. 

Even his grace felt better.  It was still weak, but he could feel it, and there were no bonds on it, none of Asmodeus’s siphoning away.  Maybe it wasn’t any stronger, but it was _him_ , and he stretched as he awoke, arms over his head, wings stretched until his back muscles quivered and metaphysical flight feathers brushed the opposite walls. 

He was still hungry, but whatever pie he’d managed to keep down and the toast the night before had taken the desperate edge off.  Wrapping a blanket around his shoulders against the chill of the bunker, he ventured down the hall. 

There was talking in the kitchen, and a new voice, gruffer, that took Gabriel a moment to place. 

Castiel.

He raised an eyebrow, hesitating in the hall, but the aroma of pancakes was louder than the sexiest siren, so he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and walked into the kitchen. 

“Morning,” he said, like it was completely normal, and fished around for a coffee cup.

He saw the shared glance between Sam and Dean, and he ignored it as he poured coffee into a stolen mug.  Sam pushed a bag of sugar his way, and he accepted, dumping in several spoonfuls. 

When he’d finished adding half and half as well, he turned around to find that Castiel was standing right there, which startled him enough that he jumped, but not so much that it scared him.  It was an innocent startle, and he grinned, reaching up to pat the younger angel’s cheek.  “I thought we talked about personal space back when you were a fledgling.”

“You’re looking better,” Castiel said, ignoring the mild insult and stating the fact. 

Gabriel shrugged and moved past Castiel towards Dean, who was setting pancakes on a plate.  For a moment, he was about to tell the hunter to pile them on, but he really didn’t want a repeat of the last night, so he decided to play along with his vessel’s whims, at least, for now. 

And then he was sitting next to Sam at the table, dousing his two pancakes with syrup and putting one foot up against Sam’s thigh.  The coffee cup was warm on his fingers.  “So,” he said, cutting off a piece of pancake and licking off the excess maple syrup before it could drip.  “We… don’t need to talk about the last few days.  Owe you guys my life and all that.”

Sam opened his mouth, and Gabriel shoved his piece of pancake into it to silence him before he could speak.  “I’ll save your life at some point, alright?”

Sam blinked in surprise but chewed and swallowed the piece of food. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked when his mouth wasn’t full.

Gabriel was cutting off another piece.  He glanced upwards, then shrugged.  “I will be.”  He let the words hang a moment as he chewed on pancake. “So,” he said, once he’d washed down the bite with a sip of the coffee, “You knuckleheads wanna catch me up on what’s been happening?”


End file.
